A Journal of the Plague Year, written by a citizen who continued all the while in London eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 325 pages of information about A Journal of the Plague Year, written by a citizen who continued all the while in London.

A Journal of the Plague Year, written by a citizen who continued all the while in London eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 325 pages of information about A Journal of the Plague Year, written by a citizen who continued all the while in London.

At length the man of the house came to the door; he had on his breeches or drawers, and a yellow flannel waistcoat, no stockings, a pair of slipped-shoes, a white cap on his head, and, as the young man said, ‘death in his face’.

When he opened the door, says he, ‘What do you disturb me thus for?’ The boy, though a little surprised, replied, ’I come from such a one, and my master sent me for the money which he says you know of.’  ’Very well, child,’ returns the living ghost; ’call as you go by at Cripplegate Church, and bid them ring the bell’; and with these words shut the door again, and went up again, and died the same day; nay, perhaps the same hour.  This the young man told me himself, and I have reason to believe it.  This was while the plague was not come to a height.  I think it was in June, towards the latter end of the month; it must be before the dead-carts came about, and while they used the ceremony of ringing the bell for the dead, which was over for certain, in that parish at least, before the month of July, for by the 25th of July there died 550 and upwards in a week, and then they could no more bury in form, rich or poor.

I have mentioned above that notwithstanding this dreadful calamity, yet the numbers of thieves were abroad upon all occasions, where they had found any prey, and that these were generally women.  It was one morning about eleven O’clock, I had walked out to my brother’s house in Coleman Street parish, as I often did, to see that all was safe.

My brother’s house had a little court before it, and a brick wall and a gate in it, and within that several warehouses where his goods of several sorts lay.  It happened that in one of these warehouses were several packs of women’s high-crowned hats, which came out of the country and were, as I suppose, for exportation:  whither, I know not.

I was surprised that when I came near my brother’s door, which was in a place they called Swan Alley, I met three or four women with high-crowned hats on their heads; and, as I remembered afterwards, one, if not more, had some hats likewise in their hands; but as I did not see them come out at my brother’s door, and not knowing that my brother had any such goods in his warehouse, I did not offer to say anything to them, but went across the way to shun meeting them, as was usual to do at that time, for fear of the plague.  But when I came nearer to the gate I met another woman with more hats come out of the gate.  ’What business, mistress,’ said I, ‘have you had there?’ ‘There are more people there,’ said she; ‘I have had no more business there than they.’  I was hasty to get to the gate then, and said no more to her, by which means she got away.  But just as I came to the gate, I saw two more coming across the yard to come out with hats also on their heads and under their arms, at which I threw the gate to behind me, which having a spring lock fastened itself; and turning to the women, ‘Forsooth,’

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A Journal of the Plague Year, written by a citizen who continued all the while in London from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.